


now that we're here (the may as well go too far remix)

by airspaniel



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Death, M/M, Obedience, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Coward feels like a sacrifice on the altar, joyous, bleeding for the sake of something greater.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	now that we're here (the may as well go too far remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unsettled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/gifts).
  * Inspired by [House is a Circus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/309714) by [unsettled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled). 
  * In response to a prompt by [unsettled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled) in the [remixmadness2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2015) collection. 



> Happy remix madness, unsettled! Your writing is gold, you have awesome fandom tastes, and I thank you for letting me play with your toys. :D
> 
> Also, it took literally all of my restraint to not just quote Hozier lyrics for the summary.

The twelfth chime sounds, and bodies rise from their seats only to fall again, voices raised in panic before breathing becomes a battle; before their heavy weights hit the floor like the darkest and most beautiful rain. Like a promise of the new, a _cleansing._

Lord Blackwood stands above the chaos, untouched and untouchable, a living god. Coward stares openly, his mouth dry. Never before has he seen anything half so beautiful, and he's powerless to suppress the beatific smile that overtakes his face. Blackwood meets his gaze, and Coward can feel the heat of his eyes even at a distance. It scorches him, sears him to the bone, and he welcomes the immolation.

When the last man has fallen, grasping at nothing, gasping for one last breath that will never be granted, Coward can no longer hold back the wild joy he feels. He laughs aloud, full-throated and ringing in the tomb-silent space; and the other members of the order keep their distance, more unnerved by the delight of this young man than the death that surrounds them.

_Let them retreat,_ Coward thinks, mad laughter still bubbling through his chest. _They do not truly understand._ Blackwood orders the men out, but Coward does not notice nor care if they obey. He is fixated. Spellbound.

His Lord descends like a storm, an unstoppable force, and the grin does not leave Coward's lips until the moment he dares to steal forward and press his mouth to Blackwood's; a soft kiss that speaks of fierce pride and devotion. It is everything, and it is not nearly enough.

“You are magnificent,” Coward confesses, breathless, and _oh_ how it is worth it for the way his Lord's eyes darken; for the way his Lord pulls him into his arms and holds him there, captive to his desires. As if Coward ever dreamed of escaping.

The backs of his thighs hit one of the high tables, and Coward shifts himself up, perching with legs spread to let Blackwood take his due. His fingers fumble at Blackwood's clothes, tugging the obstinate fabric out of place in his hunger to feel skin under his hands. He doesn't make much headway before His Lord pushes him down against the table, tears at his shirt until the buttons scatter and he can close his sharp teeth around the jut of Coward's collarbone. Coward feels like a sacrifice on the altar, joyous, bleeding for the sake of something greater.

He shivers under the onslaught and another laugh breaks free from the confines of his chest. Blackwood shoves his hips hard against Coward's arse, making him slide back on the slick wood until he reaches his hands over his head to brace himself against the far edge. The stretch puts his entire body on display, and he arches into it, only laughing harder when Blackwood literally rips his trousers down.

_”Yes,”_ Coward hisses through his teeth, still grinning like a maniac. “Let them watch, the dead, the foolish. Let them watch their empire crumble.”

The sound Blackwood muffles against his neck is pleased and amused. “Let them watch _you_ , you mean,” he corrects. “Exhibitionist.”

It doesn't sound like censure when he says it, and Coward reaches between them to free Blackwood from the confines of his clothing. “I live to serve you, my Lord,” he says, taking him in hand, tongue flicking out to taste the soft gasp that falls from Blackwood's lips. “I am for your pleasure only.”

His Lord's voice is dark and lovely, his smile a dangerous thing. “Are you, now?”

“Oh, yes,” Coward breathes, and Blackwood pins him flat on his back.

“Hands above your head.”

Coward arches up again, clenches his fingers once more around the smooth edge of the table. Blackwood rakes sharp nails down his sides all the way to his hips, and Coward brings his knees up reflexively, spreading himself in offering.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, ecstatic, tilting his hips up to urge those cruel hands even lower. He is rewarded with cool fingertips between his arse cheeks, dipping in suddenly where he's pliant and wet.

”Presumptuous,” growls Blackwood, shoving two fingers in without preamble, and Coward's laughter breaks on a moan.

“I wanted... _god_ , whatever your desires, my Lord, I want...” His thoughts are fractured and rapturous and he cannot stop his mouth. “I knew today would be glorious, that _you_ would be glorious, and I couldn't... _please...”_ He's barely making sense to himself, panting and desperate. His words run out, trailing off in a whine that sounds pitiful to his own ears.

“Hush,” he's told, and he holds his breath to obey. For a long moment there is only the rushing of the blood in his veins, the pounding of his heart and the pulse-like clench of his flesh around the fingers inside him. Then there is emptiness, and silence, and hot blessed weight atop him; and the breath is punched from his chest when Blackwood sinks his cock deep into his body.

Blackwood's mouth is on his, teaching him how to breathe again even as his hips catch rhythm and make breathing impossible. Coward tears his mouth away, bares his throat, and he wants to scream, wants to beg, to lift his voice in _prayer_ ; but he wants even more to obey. He bites at his own lip, gasps silently when he feels it split, but he doesn't make a sound.

“That's it,” his Lord hisses, one hand gripping Coward's hip cruelly, the other reaching up to cradle the side of his face almost tenderly. A thumb swipes across his lips, smearing blood across them, and Coward turns his head to lick at it; takes it into his mouth and sucks hungrily, chasing the salt taste of skin under the copper-sweetness.

Blackwood chokes on a moan, fucks into him harder, _faster,_ and Coward is _so close._ He sucks harder at the thumb in his mouth, uses it as a gag for the sounds that are clawing up his throat. He's nearly there - _god_ \- ready to come without a hand on him, high on the taste of his Lord's skin and he just needs... _just a little more._

_”Good boy,”_ Blackwood pants against the skin of his throat. “My beautiful boy...” and Coward's world goes white as pleasure lances through him like lightning.


End file.
